THE PEEPING TOM

THE PEEPING TOM

I was in college before I had any real exposure to sexual deviancy. But I suppose a college campus and its environs, with apartment houses, boarding houses, and “Greek” houses could be very tempting for voyeurs. Anyhow, in my case, during my freshman year a “peeping Tom” was periodically discovered, usually accompanied by loud shrieks, by my housemates as he was peering in an upstairs bedroom window. The fellow (he was later caught, so I know it was a “he”) would climb up on the roof of the front porch and peer in the closest window. The boyfriend of one of the girls along with some of his buddies once spent a night on the roof with their baseball bats, trying to catch the guy in the act. They didn’t catch him that night, but they did surprise him on another night trying to climb up on the porch roof, and chased him through the neighborhood until they caught him. It wasn’t much of a contest, as the fellow had one crippled leg and couldn’t run fast. Turns out he was the husband of one of the home economics professors. I felt very sorry for her.

The next year, though, brought a new Peeping Tom, and he stayed on the ground and looked through the back bedroom windows. His particular M.O. was that after he’d stood there for awhile, undetected, he’d “pssssssst” real loud, so the girls in the room would know he was there. He was never caught, though, because although we always called the campus police, by the time they arrived 5-10 minutes later, he’d strolled on off into the surrounding neighborhood.

It was during this year that I had my own “close encounter” with the Peeping Tom. One of my housemates and I were the only two women (of 25) at the house on a Saturday night. Everyone else must have had a date or a party to go to. Francine decided she’d take a shower, and she asked me to go into the shower room with her. She was a little nervous about that Peeping Tom. Now, our shower room---one for 16 girls---had three shower stalls lined up on one side of the window, and three toilets facing them on the other side, making a little hallway down to the window. I sat down on the seat of one of the toilets to talk to Francine through the shower curtain while she took her shower. Just before she got into the shower, Francine went down to the window and carefully adjusted the blinds so they were nice and even, with no cracks for any Peeping Tom to peer into.

Francine took her shower, and we chatted about whatever college girls in the 60’s chatted about—I certainly don’t remember now. What I do remember is that Francine stepped out of the shower, grabbed her towel to dry off, and then stepped toward the window. I looked around the corner of the toilet stall to see what she was up to. She was adjusting those blinds again. She needed the security. Then she turned to walk back down the little hallway toward me, carrying her towel in her hand.

That’s when I saw the little stick come from the outside through the tiny space between two of the blinds, and then slowly raise up the blind slat until there was a good-sized peephole.